Baby I Can Drive My Car

I've always taken issue with the VW ad campaign about, you know, how in life there are passengers and and there are drivers. As in, the world is divided into two groups. For most of my life, I was the passenger. And not in life, just in the car.

People laugh when I say this, but it's true: I've always been a pedestrian by temperament. I prefer to be on my feet, take public transit, walk and not drive.

I did grow up in a suburb, Princeton, New Jersey, but it was an easy enough place to get around on bike. (My mom would point out that she drove me most everywhere I needed to go. She would be correct.) Then my mom moved to New York City, another place where a car isn't necessary.

Not that I didn't try to learn. I had a constant stream of learner's permits, just never bothered to follow through with the driver's test. I did finally get my license while at graduate school. But I still never learned to drive a stick, my husband's vehicle of choice. He held on for many years to an impossible-to-drive 1983 orange Nissan truck that simply refused to die. I finally had to put my foot down when I actually put my foot through the floor of the car. Seeing the road beneath your feet is never a good sign.

Now all that's changed. We have a Mini-Cooper S and it's automatic. Now I get to be in the driver's seat. Of the car.